“Millie!” he calls out. “Do you have a minute?”

Not really. I don’t feel like having a conversation with my neighbor, but I also don’t want to be rude, especially since Jonathan always seems extremely pleasant. I hope whatever he wants to speak to me about will be quick. I’m already feeling extremely stressed out since it took almost an hour for the pharmacy to get my medication ready when I stopped in on the way home.

Jonathan hops off his front porch and sprints across our respective lawns to talk to me. Enzo would hate him walking over the grass, but I’m not about to give him a hard time.

“How are you doing, Millie?” he asks me.

“Oh, fine,” I lie.

He flashes me an apologetic smile. “Listen, we have enjoyed having Nico over helping out these last few weeks, but…”

Oh no, now what?

“Yesterday, he was putting some dishes away for us,” Jonathan says, “and he dropped one of the plates on the floor. It wasn’t a big deal, but he just left it there. He didn’t tell anyone.”

“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth. I’m simultaneously surprised and not at all surprised. “I’m so sorry.”

“Anyway.” Jonathan runs a hand through his thinning light brown hair. “We’re all set with him doing chores around our house to pay off the window. I think it’s better if he stops coming.”

“Right. Sorry. If I owe you anything…”

I hope to God he doesn’t tell me I owe them money. Even though Enzo is getting extra business thanks to Suzette, we are still on a very tight budget.

“It’s fine,” Jonathan says. “Really.”

I look over Jonathan’s shoulder at the house behind him. I see movement from one of the front windows, and I catch a flash of butterscotch hair. It’s Suzette. And she’s observing our interaction, for some reason.

Does she not trust me with her husband?

It occurs to me that this is my chance to give her a taste of her own medicine. She’s been flirting with Enzo since we got here. How would she like it if I do the same with her husband? And while I’m not attracted to Jonathan, there’s nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting, right?

I take a step closer to Jonathan. I tuck a strand of my dark blond hair behind my ear and offer him what I hope is a come-hither smile. It’s been a while since I’ve flirted—I’m a bit out of practice.

“I really appreciate that.” I slide my hand onto Jonathan’s slim shoulder. I don’t squeeze it or do anything suggestive, but I’m hoping it looks that way from the window where Suzette is watching. “You guys have just been wonderful.”

“Uh, thanks.” Jonathan flashes me an uncomfortable smile, and then he takes a step back from me, out of my reach. He takes a quick look over his shoulder, then glances back at me. “Anyway, you have a good day, Millie.”

And then he runs back into his house as fast as he can, slamming the door behind him.

Wow. That was a quick rejection. Slightly humiliating, if I’m being completely honest.

Jonathan didn’t even play along for a split second. The moment I touched him, he couldn’t get away from me quickly enough. And the first thing he did was check back to make sure Suzette didn’t see anything.

He knew she was watching him.

What is going on at 12 Locust Street? What does Suzette Lowell want from us? It feels like even though we have our shades down, she is always keeping an eye on us.

TWENTY

I’m late getting home from work.

I usually make it out of the hospital by five-ish, and depending on traffic, I am walking in the front door by five thirty. But today was one of those days when nothing went right. We had a patient who was supposed to go home today, but the patient’s daughter suddenly decided that she couldn’t take care of her mother, so I spent the afternoon scrambling to make other plans.

I tried to convince the daughter that she could handle her mother, but she wouldn’t budge. I then called three other family members, hoping one of them could provide a small amount of assistance my patient needed after her heart attack. I called a rehab hospital, but they rejected her insurance. At this point, I’m not sure what will become of this poor woman.

She is such a nice woman too. I would take her home if I could. Of course, I always say that. If I had my way, my entire house would be filled with patients whose families didn’t want to take them home.

In any case, it’s almost six o’clock by the time I pull into the garage. Enzo’s truck is parked in front of the house, so at least he’s home with the kids. Despite the fact that Janice is overprotective, I hate for my kids to be alone at home for any longer than an hour or two.

I unlock the front door to the house, trying to shake off the tension of my workday. I step into the foyer, and right away, I notice the silence. When the kids are home, especially Nico, it is never silent like this.

“Hello?” I call out.

No answer.

I walk around the first floor of the house. It’s not nearly as large as the one next door, but it still takes me a minute to get through all that space. I step through the kitchen, which looks identical to the way it did when I made the kids bowls of cereal before I left this morning. (Janice recently expressed her horror and shock at the notion that I made the kids breakfast that did not include some sort of meat protein.)

Nobody is on the first floor. I’m sure of it.

I head out to the backyard next, assuming Nico is tossing around the baseball, trying to break a second window. But when I get out there, all I see is the perfectly trimmed, vividly green grass.

Okay, the kids aren’t in the backyard either.

I climb the stairs to get to the second floor. The kids have taken to leaving their doors closed when they go to school, although our master bedroom door is open and the room is empty. Next, I tap on Ada’s room door.

No answer. No sound coming from inside.

I turn the knob and push the door open. As always, the bed is perfectly made. I never have to tell her to do that. Frankly, I think it would bother her if she left for school with her bed unmade. Her bookcase is stuffed with paperbacks and hardcovers. And there’s one shelf that has a few trophies she won on it. For a science fair and also something called a math fair, whatever that is. But no Ada.

Maybe they are all playing in Nico’s room.

My son’s room is the last stop. I tap on his door, my stomach clenching as I wait to hear his childish voice calling for me to come in. (Or not to come in.) But yet again, there’s no answer.

I open the door so abruptly, I almost fall into the room. Unlike my daughter’s room, it’s a mess. The blankets are in a big messy lump in the center of his bed, and he’s got laundry strewn everywhere. And that awful praying mantis is still in the enclosure next to his bed. Little Kiwi is here, but Nico is not.

Where are they?

TWENTY-ONE

Okay, there’s no reason to panic.

Enzo’s truck is in front of the house, so he has been home. He must have taken them somewhere. Of course, it’s not like our town is walkable. Where could he have gone without his truck?

I reach for my phone in my pants pocket. I tap out a message to Enzo:

Where are you?

I stare at the screen, waiting for a response. Nothing. It says the message has been delivered but not read.